You Are Tired (I Think)
by andaere
Summary: 8x10 speculation/AU. Naomi really messed up Castiel's head. A year later, Dean and Cas are still adjusting. Domestic Destiel. Established relationship. Warnings for non-explict slash, brain damage, and slight ableism. Rated mostly for Dean's potty mouth. Title is from the wonderful e.e. cummings poem of the same name. Written before 8x10 aired and broke my heart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello everybody! This is my hurt/comfort-filled take on Destiel curtain!fic. It's my first time writing slash (although nothing's explicit), so please let me know what you think. This was originally going to be a oneshot, but it got kinda long so I decided to split it into two parts. Also, I have no idea why I continue to write Cas with some kind of mental difficulty. I swear, at some point I'll write him with a perfectly working brain. (And now that I said that, my next 'fic will probably involve End!verse Cas being high and out of it, or something. :D)

**Warnings: **slash (Dean/Castiel), brain damage/permanent injury, some ableism (discrimination against those with disabilities)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it, although I wish I did, and this would definitely not happen in the actual show!

Please let me know what you think - reviews really make my day. The next part should be up pretty soon. Until then, enjoy!

* * *

Dean wakes slowly to the gentle sound of birdsong. Yawning, he turns his head to glance at the clock, careful not to disturb Cas, who is still sleeping, snuggled up to Dean like the little octopus he refuses to admit he is when he's asleep. The clock reads 9:30 in bright green digits. Dean panics for a moment before he remembers – right, today is Saturday. He has a job as a bartender at the local pub and he'd thought he'd overslept, but he doesn't work weekends. He's okay.

Relaxing back into the mattress, Dean turns back to look at Cas. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. Dean runs a careful hand through Castiel's dark hair, marveling at its softness.

Mornings like these, Dean can almost pretend that everything is okay. Castiel looks normal – human, yes, with his soft snores and sleep-mussed hair – but _normal_. Like this, it's impossible to tell just how much Naomi damaged Cas. Like this, Dean can pretend that he and Cas settled down only because they wanted to, and that being human is the worst of Castiel's problems.

Dean's brought out of his thoughts when he feels Cas stirring. He looks down to see Cas's big blue eyes (_he can still remember them dripping blood, and he'll never forget that immediate feeling of wrongness_) blinking up at him from his spot on Dean's shoulder.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says after a moment.

Dean smiles. He feels a rush of overwhelming love for the ex-angel in his arms (safe and relatively happy, if not whole), and he's unable to stifle the urge to kiss Cas, chick-flick moment or not. Cas responds eagerly. When Dean pulls back, Cas looks dazed and happy. (Then again, he often looks dazed now.)

"What was that for?" Cas asks.

Dean shrugs. It's hard while lying down, but he manages it. "Just felt like it."

Cas's brow furrows. Dean knows he's having trouble processing. Ever since Naomi, Cas has been, well… slower. Dean's gotten used to pauses in their conversations while Cas works through whatever Dean's just said, or tries to formulate his own sentences.

"Felt like…?" Cas eventually says, clearly giving up on trying to understand. Dean really hopes that this isn't a bad sign, and that today isn't going to be a bad day for Cas. Sam is coming over tonight, and Dean hopes that Cas will be up for the company.

"Felt like kissing you," Dean clarifies.

"Oh," Castiel says, and then frowns, puzzled. "Felt like what?"

Dean suppresses a sigh as he watches his fantasy of being normal crash down around him. (He should've known better. Winchesters can't be normal. He's always known this, more than Sam has, more than Bobby, more than anyone. But he doesn't always want to accept it.)

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean says wearily. "Let's get up – I'm gonna make pancakes."

"Pancakes," Cas repeats. "You're going… to make pancakes."

He untangles himself from Dean and sits up, reaching over to where his journal lies. (It's really a diary, but Dean forbade Cas to call it that because grown men, former angels or not, just _don't_ own diaries.) It's always in the exact same spot in the morning to help Cas remember where to find it. Cas's memory really sucks these days.

Naomi really did a number on Cas's head. For weeks, maybe even months, she whisked Cas to and from Heaven, wiping his memory each time. It was essentially like receiving brain damage over and over. Of course, that was before she gave Cas _actual_ brain damage when she performed a lobotomy on him. The idea was to blunt all of his emotions so he would become her perfect weapon. Unfortunately for her (and fortunately for them), it didn't quite work that way. Castiel could still tell right from wrong, and he managed to turn on Naomi and waste her. But he was a mess by then. Dean and Sam found him and helped him, but it became obvious that Cas had changed. He was mortal, his memory was all messed up, and he hadn't gotten away from that lobotomy scot-free.

_"Don't ever change," _Dean had said to Castiel once. The irony of it stings him sometimes.

The journal is a way for Cas to keep track of everything. His memory is so bad now that he usually needs things repeated to him. The journal helps, but only a little. Dean watches as Cas reaches for a pen, his hand trembling – a result of the lobotomy. Castiel always shakes a little now.

"Dean, what's the date?" Cas asks.

"Uh…" Dean has to think about it a little. It's a Saturday… January… right, Sam's visiting… that would make it – "January 16th."

"Thank you," Cas says. He begins writing in the journal, continuing aloud, "January 16th. 9:45… in the morning. Dean is making pancakes for… breakfast. Oh – it says here that Sam is coming over for dinner tonight. Is that true, Dean?"

"Yeah. Amelia's visiting a few friends upstate, so Sam thought he'd take the opportunity to visit us."

There's the now-standard pause as Castiel processes Dean's sentence. Eventually, he gives one of his little half-smiles that somehow make his face about ten times brighter. "That'll be pleasant. We haven't… seen Sam in a while."

Dean nods in agreement. That has almost been the weirdest thing about them settling down. He and Sam have spent time apart before, of course, and they've even settled down, but that was only when they thought the other was dead. It's weird to live in the same town and yet still not see each other for days or weeks.

"Right," Dean says. "I'm gonna go make the pancakes now. I'll let you know when they're ready."

"Okay, Dean. Thank you."

Dean looks at Castiel, hunched over on the bed with his journal, one last time before he heads to the kitchen. It's stupid, but he always feels a little on edge when he leaves Cas alone. He knows that, despite everything, Cas is far from helpless. But the paranoid, protective side of him would just prefer to have Cas in his sight at all times.

Dean's just finished mixing the pancake batter (one of the few things that he knows how to make from scratch) when Castiel ambles in to the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He's got a blanket draped around his shoulders, and his journal clutched in his hand. Dean turns to him and grins. Sometimes Cas really is too adorable for his own good. Not that Dean will ever admit to thinking that.

"Good morning, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. Go ahead and sit down; they're almost ready."

"You're making pancakes?" Cas asks, sounding faintly surprised.

_Look in your journal, _Dean wants to say. _You wrote it down._ "Yeah."

"Mmm," Cas hums indifferently. He wanders over to the table and sits down, clasping his trembling hands together. He then proceeds to stare out of the window as Dean flips over the pancakes. Castiel spends a lot of his time staring blankly at or out of things. Dean's not sure where his mind is during those moments. He doesn't like to consider the idea that Castiel's thoughts are as blank as his gaze, but he can't help but wonder.

Five minutes later, Dean announces, "Okay, they're ready."

Cas slowly turns his head to stare at Dean. He looks puzzled. Dean's not sure if it's a processing issue or a memory issue this time. Instead of clarifying verbally, he just starts putting the pancakes on a plate.

"…Oh," Cas says after a moment. Dean sets some of the pancakes down in front of the former angel, who just stares at them disinterestedly.

"C'mon, Cas, why the long face? You love pancakes."

Cas shrugs. The incredibly human gesture always throws Dean a little, no matter how many times he sees it. And he sees it a _lot_. The lobotomy didn't erase Cas's emotions, but it did dull them a little. Nowadays, Cas often seems kind of… disconnected. Sometimes, Dean finds himself remembering the raw pain and fear in Castiel's eyes as he'd said, _"I'm afraid I might kill myself,"_ and he finds himself almost _glad_ for the botched lobotomy. Sometimes being a little disengaged is a good thing. But he can't allow such apathy when it's about the deliciousness of pancakes.

"I even put blueberries in them to make them healthier for you, you little health nut," Dean says.

Castiel tears his gaze away from the window again and looks up at him, his eyes soft with amusement. "Thank you, Dean. That was very… thoughtful."

Dean suspects Cas is just humoring him, but whatever. He watches as Cas slowly picks up a fork and knife with shaky hands and starts cutting the pancakes. Dean resists the urge to grab the plate from him and cut the damn things himself. Castiel needs to be able to do things on his own. Dean can't baby him too much. He's still trying to learn that.

It's quiet for a while as both of them begin to eat. Dean moans aloud when he takes his first bite of syrupy goodness. "Damn, I'm a good cook."

Castiel doesn't respond, but Dean's used to that. The angel never got his humor even before the brain damage, so it's very unlikely that he'll get it now. Dean suspects that Cas doesn't even try to keep up with his pop culture references and jokes anymore.

"Dean?" Cas asks when they're almost done.

"Yeah?"

"Can we… go to the park today?"

Cas looks up at him with huge, pleading puppy dog eyes. God, why'd he have to be saddled with a brother _and_ a boyfriend (and wow, it's still weird to think of Cas like that) who could win Olympic medals in making puppy dog eyes? Dean sighs.

"I dunno, Cas. I mean, Sam's coming over tonight and that's already a lot of activity for one day."

Dean waits as Cas figures out his sentence. After a moment, Cas says, "I… didn't know that Sam is coming tonight. That'll be nice. We haven't seen him for a while. But Dean, I am capable of… going to the park _and_ having Sam over tonight. I am not an infant, or an invalid. I can handle it."

Dean frowns. "I know you can," he says, ignoring the doubt and nagging feeling that he's lying as he says the words. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't up for it, it's just – we need to get ready for Sam, and stuff."

_Wow. Real strong argument there, Winchester._

"But I want to go to the park," Cas says, faintly pleading and petulant, pulling out the puppy dog eyes again. And it's still so rare for Cas to actually really _want_ to do something that Dean knows he's screwed then and there.

"Fine," he concedes. "After breakfast, we'll go to the park. But we need to be back in time to make dinner."

Making dinner – what a weird thought. It wasn't too long ago that nearly all of his dinners involved greasy diner food or pizza deliveries (and not the porno kind of deliveries). Now, a year later, the gates of Hell are closed forever, Dean is shacked up with a brain-damaged former Angel of the Lord, and they're going to cook a nice dinner for Sam. Dean still can't believe it sometimes.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, looking distantly happy as he pulls out his journal and a pen. "10:30 in the morning. Dean made blue berry pancakes… and they were good. We are going to go to the park soon…"

Dean easily tunes Cas out. He's not entirely sure why Cas always insists on narrating his journal entries out loud as he writes them. He suspects it's yet another attempt to hold on to the memories better, but it's led to some embarrassing moments.

(_"Dean and I made love this morning… Dean and I cuddled on the couch and watched the film _Beauty and the Beast_ today… I told Dean that he was pretty this afternoon because the sun was shining and it made his eyes look very green, but he told me that men are not 'pretty' and I should say that he is '__rugeddlee__ ruggeddly handsome' instead…"_)

Dean dreads the moment when Cas forgets that he's only supposed to write journal entries when just Dean is in the room, and narrates some embarrassing thing down in front of everyone. The entries are also a constant reminder of Cas's new, simpler state of mind. Dean remembers the angel who spoke every language and wonders how much of him is left. Sometimes Castiel will say things that seem just like the old him, but then he'll write down journal entries that sound like the work of a third-grader. Dean can't figure it out. Honestly, he doubts Castiel knows either. His brain is scrambled, and random bits of it are cut out. Who knows why he does anything that he does, least of all Castiel himself.

* * *

11:00 finds them strolling down to the park, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Sickeningly enough, they're holding hands. Dean normally wouldn't allow this kind of thing to happen, but they're currently walking past grumpy old Mrs. Marsance, who seems literally ill at the sight of two guys holding hands. It's fun to bug her. (Plus, Cas had given him puppy dog eyes again.) With one eye on his neighbor, Dean leans over to give Cas a chaste peck on the cheek. Mrs. Marsance scowls and looks away while Dean smirks.

"You should not provoke her, Dean," Cas says, frowning, obviously (and surprisingly, Dean can't help but think) picking up on the exchange.

"Whatever, Cas. If it bothers her that much, she can move. Otherwise, maybe I'll, I dunno, open her mind and broaden her horizons or something."

Cas furrows his brow, confusion swirling in his blue eyes. "…What?"

Dean suppresses the urge to sigh. Cas probably lost track of the conversation again. He's explained to Dean that it can be very difficult for him to carry conversations, because not only does he have to focus very hard to understand and process everything that is said, but he often forgets what they were talking about in the first place.

Sure enough, Cas continues, "I'm sorry, Dean, what were we discussing?"

"Don't worry about it, Cas." Dean tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but a little of it bleeds through. He hopes Castiel doesn't notice. He's not frustrated with the ex-angel, not really. He's more frustrated with Naomi and Cas's deadbeat dad and their entire shitty situation.

"Okay," the former angel agrees placidly, and Dean finds himself once again feeling almost grateful for the detached thing Cas has going on sometimes. If he noticed Dean's annoyance, it didn't bother him.

They're almost at the park when Dean notices an ice cream cart nearby. He can practically feel himself salivating. He hasn't had ice cream in too long, and the sign advertising "Ice Cream of All Flavors!" is calling his name. Dean stops walking, pulling Cas to a halt, too. He needs ice cream _now._

"What is it?" Cas asks, glancing around vaguely.

"Dude," Dean says, pointing at the ice cream cart. "Ice cream. We're going there."

"Ice cream?" Cas looks faintly disapproving. He pulls away from Dean to dig his journal out of his jacket pocket. (The trenchcoat is long gone. It was too associated with Angel Cas, and Cas is human now. Plus, it got really bloody without angelic dry cleaning.) Dean hadn't even known that Cas had brought his journal. He watches as Cas rifles through it until he finds what he's looking for, and then continues, "Dean, it is January. It's cold. Ice cream is cold too. You should not… have cold ice cream when it is cold."

"No, man," Dean says, shaking his head. "You've got it all wrong. Ice cream is _best_ when it's cold outside. It's refreshing and awesome and – and I don't even know why we're still standing here. I'm getting some no matter what. You want any?"

"Any…?"

"Ice cream."

"Oh. Uh, I don't know. It's a little cold for ice cream."

"Yeah," Dean says. _You already said that._ "Well, follow me while you decide. Ice cream tastes even better when it's cold outside."

He walks up to the cart. Behind it is a middle-aged woman, and behind her is the menu, which Dean immediately starts dissecting. They have popsicles and ice cream cones and many, _many _flavors..

"Hey, Cas," Dean says with glee, nudging the former angel with his elbow. "Check it out. They have _apple-pie-flavored_ ice cream."

Cas just stares at him expressionlessly. He's looking a little distant again. Dean holds back a sigh and leaves him to it, turning to the lady behind the counter, already imagining the pure bliss of apple pie in ice cream form. He needs to meet the genius who came up with that.

"I'll have a double scoop of your apple pie ice cream on a cone, please."

"Coming right up," the woman says, grabbing the scooper-thingy and heading toward the ice cream. But a moment later she frowns, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, but it seems that we're out of apple pie ice cream."

"Figures," Dean mutters bitterly. Sometimes he really wonders why the world is so against him. After all, he's saved its ass _multiple_ times. "Uh, I guess I'll have a double scoop of Rocky Road on a cone, then."

"Alright. And for you, sir?" The vendor asks, addressing Cas, who is standing beside Dean.

Cas stares blankly at her in a way that Dean knows makes people uncomfortable. Sure enough, she shifts uneasily on her feet, frowning slightly. After a moment, which Dean knows was Castiel processing her question but the vendor probably thought was Cas trying to see inside her brain or something, Castiel says, "…I'm sorry?"

"Would you like anything, sir?" the woman repeats.

Cas still looks confused, so Dean clarifies, "She wants to know if you'd like to order any ice cream."

"…Oh," Cas says after a moment. He looks at the woman and says earnestly, "It is very cold outside, because it is January. I believe you should… not eat ice cream when it is cold outside."

Dean watches as the lady's eyes get softer as Cas speaks, filling with a kind of mistaken understanding that never fails to irritate Dean. _God, not this again._

"So you don't want any ice cream?" Dean asks brusquely.

"Um." Castiel stares up at the menu like he's mesmerized by it. Dean's worried that he's spacing out again, but after a moment he realizes that Cas is trying to read the menu. It takes a long time for him to read things now, which is probably one of the reasons the journal doesn't always work that well, now that he thinks of it. But really, it takes Cas a long time to do everything nowadays

After a while, he can't stand it anymore. The woman is watching Castiel with maternal concern and pity, and if they stay here too much longer Dean's gonna snap and start yelling at her.

"Just get a double scoop of vanilla, Cas. That's a classic."

"…Okay, Dean. I will have…" Cas trails off, probably having forgotten his order. Luckily, the vendor isn't _entirely_ useless.

"Double scoop of vanilla, got it. Would you like it in a cup or cone?" The woman directs her attention to Dean while asking the question, another thing that happens often when he's in public with Cas. It annoys Dean, but he has to admit that sometimes it's easier to just answer than to wait for Cas to figure it out. He tries to decide if a cup or a cone would work better for the ex-angel. It's hard for Cas to handle utensils with his constantly unsteady hands, but he might lose his grasp on a cone entirely –

"I'll have a cone like Dean, please," Castiel cuts in, surprising both of them. Dean wonders how Cas can remember that Dean ordered a cone but constantly forget what someone said two seconds ago.

"Sure thing, sweetie," the lady says kindly, smiling at Cas, who tentatively smiles back.

Dean wants to punch her.

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean and Cas are walking away from the cart, a few dollars lighter, ice cream cones in hand. Fortunately, Dean managed not to punch the vendor, but he's still fuming (no matter how delicious his ice cream is).

"Doesn't that _bother_ you, man?" Dean bursts out after a few silent minutes.

Cas looks at him in confusion. "Doesn't what bother me?"

"How that woman treated you. How they _all_ treat you. Like you're – retarded or something."

"…Retarded?"

"Yeah. It means… slow. They treat you like you're stupid."

Castiel frowns. "But… Dean, I _am_… slow."

"Well – I mean, you're brain-damaged, yeah, but you're not _retarded_. There's a difference."

Cas just stares at him uncomprehendingly, and Dean curses his lack of eloquence. Then again, maybe it's better that Cas doesn't really get it, doesn't really understand just how much society patronizes him. Or maybe he gets it and just doesn't care. It's so hard to tell with Cas sometimes.

"Cas?" Dean prompts after Cas is silent for a long time, even for him. Castiel glances at Dean and frowns.

"I'm sorry, Dean. What were we discussing?"

Dean thinks about letting it drop, but then he remembers the pity in woman's eyes, and the way people always talk down to Cas, and even his own occasional thoughts and doubts and assumptions.

"I asked if it bothered you that people tend to treat you like you're stupid."

After a few seconds, Cas shrugs, the gesture practiced but still alien. "No, it doesn't bother me, Dean. People… are nice to me, and I know they mean well. Most of them, at least."

"But they're so _patronizing_," Dean grouses.

"Dean," Cas says, stopping their meandering around the park to face Dean, placing a quivering hand on his shoulder. He looks straight at Dean, and not in his usual blank or distant way, but with his old, angelic, I-can-see-your-soul intensity. It amazes Dean that after everything, Cas can still look at him like that. Dean stares at him, effectively trapped by his gaze and the shaky but somehow anchoring touch on his shoulder.

"Listen to me," the former angel says, his voice filled with rare power and focus. "I do not care what other people think of me, or how they treat me. I… only care what _you_ think of me, and how _you_ treat me. You are the _only_ person who matters. Do you… understand?"

Dean feels strangely like he's been given some kind of benediction, some confession or confirmation that he hadn't even realized he needed. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and whispers, "Yeah."

Now he feels even worse about those occasional thoughts and doubts that he has. He resolves to try harder to have faith in Cas. He's never really been one for faith, but for Cas, he'll make an effort.

"Good," Cas replies. He holds Dean's gaze for a moment longer, then drops his hand and turns back to his ice cream cone. They continue walking, Dean still slightly stunned. _You are the _only_ person who matters._

"We should get back soon," Dean says after a while. "We need to get ready for Sam."

"Sam's coming over today?" Cas asks, the old surprise coloring his tone. "Good. We haven't seen… him for some time."

"Uh-huh," Dean says. He thinks about Cas, about brain damage, about faith and independence and intelligence. He watches Cas skillfully eat his ice cream despite his trembling hands.

On their way out of the park, Dean takes Castiel's free hand. Cas gives him a rare smile and Dean doesn't even try to deny the mushy feeling inside of him.

Sometimes chick-flick moments are okay. Not that he'll ever admit that to Sammy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Alright, here's the second and final part of this super-long oneshot. (This is the final part of this oneshot, but I'm not saying it's the final part of this universe. We'll see if my muse strikes again!) Anyways, I'd like to take the time to thank everyone who read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed this story. I had some serious doubts about this oneshot and almost ended up not posting it, so I really appreciate all of the positive feedback. You guys make writing so much more rewarding. Thank you.

Same warnings apply, but also add a possibly cavity-inducing amount fluff and some brotherly angst (it weaseled its way in there somehow.) I still don't own _Supernatural._

Enjoy!

* * *

It's about 2:00 when they get back. Just enough time to get ready for Sammy, who's coming around 5:00.

"Okay," Dean says. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Cas, maybe you could clean up the place a bit, or something."

"Okay, Dean."

Dean heads off to the shower, leaving Castiel to putter around the house. The hunter wonders cynically how long Cas will stay on this task before he loses his concentration or forgets what he's doing. Oh well. When he gets out of the shower, he can tidy up a bit.

Dean knows that he doesn't need to do any of this for Sam. His little brother probably wouldn't care all that much if Dean just took them all out to a diner like old times, and he certainly wouldn't care if their house is messy. (Or at least he wouldn't be _surprised_.) But Dean can't suppress this urge to prove himself to Sam – to prove that yes, he is capable of settling down, and yes, everything's working out with Castiel, despite expectations. For some reason, being clean and put together and serving a home-cooked meal seems like the epitome of successful to Dean.

So he takes a shower.

When he gets out, he's surprised to see that Cas actually has tidied much of their house. He's sitting on the couch right now, pink tongue between his teeth as he writes in his journal, muttering his words as he writes. There's just a few things around that Cas didn't get to.

"Hey, nice work," Dean says, affectionately ruffling Cas's hair as he walks by. Cas peers up at him with a frown.

"What?"

"Nice work tidying up the place. Sam will think we actually pick up after ourselves now."

"Oh. Thank you. What… are we doing next?"

"Well, I'm going to start preparing dinner."

The _"and you're going to do something else"_ is implied. As much as Dean wants to give Cas his independence and dignity, there's no denying that he'd be a mess in the kitchen with his memory, attention, and processing problems. Not to mention his shaking and his trouble reading. Yeah, Dean isn't letting Cas near any complicated recipes.

Of course, Castiel had rarely got implied messages even before the brain damage, so he asks eagerly, "Can I help?"

Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Castiel's previous words still ring clearly in his mind: _I only care what _you _think of me, how_ you _treat me_.

"Uh. I'll let you know."

"Okay." Castiel turns back to his journal, reading over it, suddenly seeming pretty uncaring about the whole cooking thing. He must've gone distant again. Dean wants to feel relieved, but instead he just feels guilty. Even if Cas doesn't care anymore, Dean cares, and even if it's true that Cas will be a disaster in the kitchen, it might not be so bad. Dean can help him. He wants to support Cas. He doesn't want to be like the ice cream vendor.

"Tell you what," Dean says. "You can help bake the cookies when I finish preparing the entrée."

He can't believe he just said "entrée." Dean Winchester should not say "entrée." He should only use French when seducing women (or, well… Cas, now). Otherwise it just sounds pretentious, and Dean is a lot of things, but pretentious isn't one of them.

"I'll tell you when I'm ready," Dean continues, bringing himself out of his rambling thoughts.

"Of course, Dean," Cas says blankly. Dean has a feeling that he's forgotten what the conversation is about, but he doesn't let it bother him. Maybe Cas will actually enjoy cooking, and Dean can add another thing to the small-but-growing list of human stuff that Cas likes (and is able) to do.

Dean heads over to the kitchen, leaving Castiel to his journal. He opens up the fridge, taking out the pork that he'd bought the other day in anticipation of Sam's visit. (Yeah. He's _that_ lame now. He'll admit it.) He also takes out the broccoli, wrinkling his nose at the offensive green vegetable. Sam and Cas like it, so whatever. Dean made sure to get potatoes and butter too.

About an hour later, Dean's got a pretty nice (if he says so himself) meal prepared for the three of them. He sets aside the pork and vegetables for the moment, covering it to make sure it'll still be fresh and warm.

It's time for the cookies. Which, yeah, don't really go well with the entrée (damn, there's that word again), but they were the simplest dessert Dean could think of.

"Hey, Cas, you still out there?" Dean calls.

"…Yes, Dean."

"C'mere."

After a moment, Dean hears the soft padding of feet as Cas joins him in the kitchen, his journal still clutched in his trembling hand. He walks over to Dean and stands close by – his usual personal space invasion that has essentially ceased bothering Dean.

"What is it, Dean?"

"We're baking cookies."

Castiel tilts his head in that signature move of his. "Why?"

"'Cause Sam's coming over."

"He… is? Oh, good. We haven't –"

"Seen him for a while, yeah, I _know_," Dean interrupts, unable to hide the impatience in his voice. Yeah, his life is a hell of a lot of repetition nowadays, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. But he's already kicking himself when he catches sight of Castiel's chagrined expression.

"Oh… Did I say that already? I'm… sorry, Dean."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Dean says. "It's not your fault. I shouldn't have snapped."

Cas blinks at him, his blue eyes soft and forgiving. Eager to move on from the apology, Dean says, "Now, c'mon, we're making cookies."

"How do you make cookies?" Cas asks, actually looking relatively interested. Dean counts it as a success, and congratulates himself for coming up with this. (See. He's not the ice cream lady.)

"Well, for one thing, you won't be using this," Dean says, taking the journal from Cas and placing it carefully on the table. He also takes the opportunity to give Cas a quick kiss, grinning when Cas leans up, chasing after him.

"Later," Dean promises. "First we're making cookies."

Dean gets a tray and the cookie dough. It's the ready-to-bake kind – it'll be easiest for Cas, and it's not like Dean's that great of a chef either. But it's up to him to teach Castiel.

"You break a piece off, see," Dean demonstrates, making sure that Castiel is paying attention. "Then you roll it up, like this, and set it down here. Just do that to all the pieces. Can you work on that while I get the oven ready?"

"Like this?" Cas asks. He breaks off one of the pieces, but then just stares at it, eyes blank. Dean gently cups his shaking hands, helping him mold the cookie dough into a ball.

"Then put it on the tray."

"Tray…?"

"Right there, Cas," Dean says, pointing.

Cas sets down the cookie dough and Dean grins. "You got it, angel."

Castiel positively glows, radiating happiness and satisfaction. Damn, if Dean had known that baking would get Cas this happy, he would've tried it earlier. Well, this is just the beginning. He's already envisioning a lot of kitchen mishaps and adventures in the future.

Dean heads over to the oven, making sure everything's ready and that the timer is set. (That he won't trust Castiel with. Forgetting the timer could lead to a _lot_ of problems. One house burning down is enough in one lifetime, thanks.) Dean takes a bit longer than he usually would, trying to give Cas more time to get the cookies ready by himself. Eventually, Dean can't stall any longer, so he goes back to the former angel.

Castiel's done about half of the cookies, eyes narrowed with concentration. It seems like he's pretty much remembered what to do after the first one. Some of them are kinda weirdly shaped, maybe because of Cas's shaking, but overall they're pretty good.

"They look good, Cas. Sam's gonna love them."

"…Thank you, Dean. Do you believe we will like them? I don't think I've ever had… cookies before."

"Maybe you have and you just don't remember," Dean says without thinking. Okay, yeah, whatever. Sue him. He's no saint. He can't be the poster boy for tact all the time.

Fortunately, Cas just huffs a humorless laugh. "Perhaps."

He stares at the cookie dough in his hand, thinking, or maybe spacing out, Dean's never sure which. Castiel's not that great at multitasking now, and he's pretty much paused in his baking efforts to talk to Dean. So Dean breaks off a piece of cookie dough and forms it, setting it down on the tray, trying to subtly nudging Cas back into moving. Sometimes actions work better than words with Cas, and Dean's always been better at actions anyway.

Sure enough, after a moment Cas snaps out of it and starts making the cookies again. Within minutes, there's only one piece left. Cas reaches for it, but Dean puts a hand over his wrist.

"Wait a second, Cas."

Dean picks up the piece and splits it in two, giving half of it to Castiel, who looks at it in confusion. "I don't understand," he says. (Nowadays, Dean's noticed, it's a lot less '_I don't understand that reference_' and a lot more plain ole '_I don't understand_.') "Are we making two very small cookies?"

"No, dude," Dean chuckles. "We're _eating_ these sons of bitches. Trust me, they're delicious." Without further ado, Dean pops the chunk of cookie dough in his mouth, moaning as the taste reaches him. "Mmm. That is _awesome_."

A little more tentatively, Cas tries the cookie dough. He chews for a while, and then a sort of pleasant surprise lightens his face. "This is… good."

"Wait 'till you try the actual cookies," Dean says. "Hot out of the oven… yum. Hey, you wanna put them in?"

Castiel stares at him, puzzled. "…What?"

"We just finished making our cookies," Dean explains. Cas must've forgotten again. "Do you wanna put them in the oven?"

"Oh, alright," Cas agrees complacently. He takes the gloves that Dean offers, and Dean watches carefully as the former angel takes the tray and opens the oven. Oh God, he shouldn't have let Cas handle anything hot, what if he forgets that it's hot and burns himself, he doesn't have angel powers anymore and he won't heal –

"Is that good?" Cas asks.

"Uh," Dean says, taking a moment to wrap his mind around the catastrophe-free scene. "Yeah, that's great, Cas."

Cas gives him a small smile. Dean grins back, filled with the success of their first baking adventure together. Thankfully, the doorbell rings before they can both melt into puddles of goo.

"That must be Sam. C'mon."

"Sam's visiting?" Cas asks. Dean mostly ignores him, but – seriously? He's definitely going to have to come up with a better way for Cas to remember when they have visitors. Maybe he'll write it in every room or something. Or on Cas's hand. But whatever. Pretty soon Sam will be right in front of them and Cas won't forget about him then.

Dean makes it to the door and opens it to see his grinning, ginormous brother. He seems to have grown a few more inches from the last time Dean saw him, if that was even possible.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, smiling.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, and before Dean knows it he's enveloped in a huge hug.

"Dude, you're acting like I just came back from the dead… again," Dean laughs.

"Shut up," Sam huffs. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Dean smirks, but doesn't give Sam any more trouble. He's missed his little brother.

Sam turns from Dean to Cas, who has just approached and is now standing awkwardly nearby. (Cas could make awkward into an art form, honestly.)

"Hey, Cas," Sam says with a soft smile.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel responds gravely.

Without hesitating, Sam gives Cas a giant hug too. Dean notices that Sam's more gentle and careful with Cas, like he's so fragile that one wrong move could shatter him. Behavior like that would normally annoy Dean, but he can't blame Sam. He gets it. They're all broken, but with Castiel, it's the most obvious.

"This is a nice surprise. I didn't know you… were coming," Cas says when Sam lets him go.

Dean barely resists the urge to slap his forehead. "Yes, you did, Cas," he says before Sam can say anything. "You wrote it in your journal. We made dinner for Sam."

"Oh," Cas says. Dean stares steadily at him, avoiding looking at Sam. He doesn't want to know if there's pity in his brother's eyes.

"You made dinner? Wow, Dean, I didn't know you know how to cook," Sam says, amusement in his voice. That, Dean can deal with. He finally looks at Sam and scowls.

"Shut up, bitch. I made meals for you all the time when we were growing up."

"Yeah, if Spaghetti-Os and Lucky Charms count as meals…"

"You ungrateful bastard," Dean grumps. "See if I serve you my pork chops tonight, then. Or the broccoli that goes with it, which I got just for you and Cas."

"Hey, that actually sounds good," Sam says, not even having the decency to hide his surprise. Dean huffs, but he's not really that insulted. It's true that he's never really been a culinary artist.

"I also helped Dean make cookies," Cas pipes up. "They're chocolate… chip. Dean says you'll like them."

"Dude, I _love_ chocolate chip cookies." Sam's eyes brighten in a way that reminds Dean of an overexcited puppy. "Who doesn't?"

"I wouldn't know, I've never tried them," Cas says. "Not that I… can remember, at least."

"The cafeterias in Heaven must've really sucked," Dean says glibly. Sam shoots him a look like _go easy on the ex-angel,_ but Dean just shrugs. Castiel is used to him blaspheming like there's no tomorrow. And if bringing up Heaven bothers Cas… well, he'll have to get over it eventually. Tough love. Besides, here on Earth he can eat cookies.

Castiel tilts his head. "There are no cafeterias in Heaven, Dean. I – the angels – don't… require sustenance."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Sarcasm, Cas."

"…Oh."

Some things never change.

"Anyways," Dean says. "Dinner's not getting any fresher. I'll be right back – Sam, Cas, you guys go ahead and sit down."

"I can help," Sam and Cas say simultaneously. Dean wonders if they've been practicing, because otherwise that's just uncanny.

"Thanks," he says, "but what would help would be if you guys stayed outta the way."

"Fine, jerk," Sam says, raising his hands in the air like Dean's gonna strike. (Sam always liked his melodrama.) "Don't freak out. C'mon, Cas. We can entertain ourselves."

As Dean walks to the kitchen, he hears Castiel say, "Sam, I helped make the cookies. They're chocolate chip. Dean… thinks you'll enjoy them."

"Mmm, sounds good," Sam says, without a hint of annoyance or pity at the repetition. Dean gets the food ready, suddenly feeling lighter. It's nice to know that he's left Cas in good hands. Better than his own, really. Sam's always been the better man.

When Dean comes back out, his boyfriend and his brother are waiting patiently at the table. Dean sets the food down, feeling almost nervous.

"All right. Dig in."

* * *

"Seriously, Dean, that was pretty damn good," Sam says, for the second time.

"Told you I could cook. You don't have to act so surprised," Dean says with a smug smile.

"You always cook very well, Dean," Castiel says.

Dean can feel his grin soften as he looks at the former angel. "Thanks, Cas."

Sam is giving them his _you guys are too cute_ look, so Dean quickly looks away, clears his throat, and tries to think of a new, manly topic. Cas speaks up first.

"Did you enjoy the chocolate chip cookies, Sam? I… helped Dean bake them. He thought you'd like them."

Dean turns away to hide a smile. He has to admit that Cas can be pretty adorable sometimes, and his eagerness over this whole baking adventure is frankly quite endearing. Cas must've mentioned the cookies at least six times over the course of the evening. Maybe the next time Castiel cooks ('cause Dean's already decided that it's gonna happen again), they'll just label everything Cas makes. "_Cooked by Castiel_." Then they can avoid the repetition, cute as the sentiment behind it is.

"Yeah, they were great, Cas," Sam says. "That was your first time baking cookies, right?"

Cas nods, smiling one of his rare smiles. "Yes. I'm glad you liked them, Sam."

Once Sam and Cas are done giving each other goo-goo eyes (and really, who's doing it with who, here), they clean up the dinner plates. Afterwards, Dean has a brilliant idea.

"Guys, let's watch a movie. I still have to educate Cas on all things film-y."

"Film-y?" Sam repeats, eyebrows raised. "I think you mean _cinematic_."

"Whatever. You're the only one who cares, Sammy. Cas, what movie d'you wanna watch?"

Castiel just shrugs. He's probably sunk back into his non-caring stupor. Dean doesn't really mind (not much, at least), because Cas has been pretty with it all day. Some days, it doesn't always feel like he's present, even when he's in the same room as Dean, staring at the wall or floor or whatever. But today, Cas seems to really be here. Most of the time, anyway. So Dean lets him space out now or whatever it is he does, and he picks out a movie.

"How's _Die Hard_ sound?"

Sam groans. "Really, Dean?"

"C'mon, it's a classic. We're watching it."

His brother groans again, but Dean can tell it's (mostly) for show. Sam flops into an armchair while Dean sits on the couch after putting the DVD in. He looks up at Castiel, who is standing nearby, gazing at nothing.

"Cas? C'mere, sit down," Dean says, patting the spot next to him.

"…What are we doing?" Cas asks as he joins Dean.

"Watching _Die Hard_."

"_Die Hard_…?"

"Yep. Pretty much the greatest movie ever."

"It's not _that_ good," Sam grouses.

"Good…?"

Man, Cas is really having trouble processing right now. Dean glances at him in concern. "You okay, buddy?"

He waits a few moments until the question sinks in. Cas then responds, "Yes, sorry… Dean. I'm think I'm just… tired."

"You've had a long day," Dean says sympathetically. "Just lie back and relax during the movie, okay? Don't worry about trying to follow or remember the plot. It's basically just a bunch of really awesome action moves that you can appreciate even without knowing the context."

"…Okay, Dean," Cas says. He scoots down a bit and rests his head against the back of the couch. Dean starts the movie. He suspects that Cas will be asleep within minutes, but at least he and Sam can still enjoy the awesomeness that is Bruce Willis.

* * *

Two hours and eleven minutes later, Dean lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Now _that_ is a good movie."

"Alright, it was better than I remembered," Sam admits. "The last time I watched it, I was probably six and too young to understand anything."

"Even a six-year-old can enjoy explosions. It's just 'cause you were such a nerdy little kid. Still are, really."

Sam just shakes his head, most likely accepting that Dean is and will always be cooler than him. Dean cranes his neck to look at Cas, who fell asleep a third of the way into the movie and slowly slid closer and closer to Dean until his head was resting on Dean's shoulder. It doesn't look very comfortable, so Dean picks up a pillow, places it on his lap, and carefully moves Castiel so his head is on the pillow in Dean's lap. Cas mutters something in his sleep, turning towards Dean and snuggling into him. Dean can't help but smile. It always amuses him how much of a cuddle monster Cas turned out to be. (And honestly, Dean's glad he's not the cuddler of the two of them. He can always blame any cuddling on Cas and retain his masculinity.)

"How are you doing, Dean?" Sam asks. Dean looks up from Castiel, startled.

"I'm fine," he answers, slightly puzzled.

"No, I mean, you and Cas – you're getting along okay? Everything's good? Despite – everything?"

Dean sighs. He should've known that his girly brother would want to discuss feelings. He _hates_ discussing feelings. But it's late, and dark, and the credits of Die Hard are still rolling. Cas is asleep in his lap. He can do this. He can be honest and open. He owes Sam this much.

Dean runs a hand through Castiel's dark hair, playing gently with the strands as he formulates his answer. It's an oddly soothing action, and Cas just sighs, wiggling closer, still asleep.

"We're good," Dean finally replies, hearing the slight surprise in his own voice. "Really. I mean, I'm not gonna lie – it's hard, sometimes. Cas forgets stuff, I get frustrated, and sometimes Cas just seems so… out of it. And I still miss hunting every now and then. But – we're getting by. And that's all you can really ask for, right?"

Sam nods, pursing his lips in a thoughtful expression. "Good. That's great. Have you been reading the stuff I sent you?"

Dean barely holds back a groan. Shortly after they found Cas and started figuring out the extent of the damage, Sam went into his research rampage mode and looked up a bunch of stuff about brain injuries, specifically frontal lobe injuries and previous lobotomy cases. He figured it would help, but Dean disagreed, because they didn't even know what parts of Castiel's brain had been damaged. The lobotomy stuff wasn't quite right either, because Naomi's lobotomy wasn't done correctly. And who knew what weird effects there were when the victim was an angel at the time? Still, Sam gave Dean all these readings and even now, he insists on sending Dean brain damage articles every now and then.

"Yeah, I read it, man," Dean says, not even trying to hide his exasperation. "I told you, that stuff doesn't help. I already know what doesn't work in Cas's head. I _live_ with the symptoms; I don't need to read about them."

"They had some coping strategies in there, though, and some therapy suggestions. I thought you might wanna at least give them a try –"

"Cas has his journal. Not that it actually does much good. But listen to me, Sam – I got this. Okay? Stop worrying about us. We can take care of ourselves."

Sam frowns, looking miffed. "I know that, Dean."

"I'm just saying, sometimes you don't act like it."

A few tense moments of silence pass. Dean focuses on the former angel snuggled up to him. What if he could "cure" Castiel? Is it even possible? Hell, even if he wanted to make a crossroads deal he'd be unable to – there are no demons anymore, thanks to them. But if he could fix Cas, what then? Would their strange, domestic life fall apart? Would Cas still want him if he didn't need him?

"Sorry," Dean finally says gruffly. "I know you're just trying to help." _Stop trying._

"But that's enough about me. Um… How's Amelia?"

"Uh, she's good. We're still both kind of messes, but it works, somehow."

"Well, y'know what they say – two broken halves make a whole, or whatever," Dean says. His tone is flippant, but he can't hide the truth of his words. Because really, what are he and Cas but two broken people who have somehow managed to carve out a tiny bit of happiness together?

Sam smiles, looking at Dean like he knows what he's thinking. "Yeah. I guess they do."

Dean grins, and then glances at his watch. "It's getting late. You wanna crash here? You can take the couch. I swear me and Cas won't get freaky with you right outside."

"Ew, Dean," Sam groans, glaring at his brother in Bitchface #4 (_My Big Brother is So Gross_). "I did _not_ need that mental image."

Dean smirks. "So is that a yes?"

"Yeah, Dean. Thanks."

"Sure." Dean nudges Cas, trying to get him to wake up. He feels bad, because Cas was obviously exhausted, but no way is he carrying Castiel to bed. He's always done enough embarrassing things in front of Sam. Besides, dude's heavy.

"…Mmmwhat?" Cas mutters as Dean shakes him awake.

"C'mon, Cas. We're going to bed."

The former angel sits up, blearily rubbing his eyes with trembling hands. He blinks around the room, taking in Dean and the movie screen, probably trying to place himself and figure everything out. He's always discombobulated when he wakes up somewhere that isn't their bed. Eventually, he spots Sam and stands up, stumbling over to him.

"Night, Sam," Castiel mumbles, nearly falling on top of Sam in some sort of misguided attempt to hug him. Luckily, Sam catches him before his clumsiness knocks him over.

"Whoa, careful, Cas!" Sam laughs, his steadying hands gentle and caring. Dean remembers when Sam was just "the boy with the demon blood" to Cas. The two never exactly got along, and yet – here they are, Castiel clinging to Sam while Sam's eyes are filled with concern and affection.

"C'mon, you lovebug," Dean says, grabbing Castiel's arm and dragging him near. Cas easily lets go of Sam and turns to Dean, leaning into him and briefly nuzzling his neck.

Seriously. Cuddle monster.

"Good night, Sam," Cas repeats.

Sam smiles. "G'night, Cas."

Dean heads toward the bedroom, half dragging a still-disorientated ex-angel along with him. He reaches the door and turns to Cas.

"Think you can make it on your own?"

Cas glares at him. Dean gets the feeling that Cas would smite him if he were still able to. "I am… not an –"

"Infant or invalid, yeah, I got it. Sorry. Now go get 'em, tiger."

Castiel gives Dean his usual "_I Don't Understand That Reference_" look, but then turns away and enters the bedroom without questioning Dean.

Dean turns to Sam. "Pillows are on the couch, blankets too. Got everything else you need?"

Sam nods. "Listen, Dean – what I said earlier, about the articles –"

"Don't worry about it, Sam. Really. We're cool."

"No, I was out of line," Sam insists. "You're really good with Cas. You know what he needs best of all. I should've realized that earlier. If you want me to stop sending the articles, just let me know."

"Thanks, Sammy. But the one who knows what Cas needs best is Cas. I'll bring up the articles to him later, okay? And I'll let you know what he says. But don't – freak out – over this. I just… I need you to trust this, and I need to trust that this won't fall apart. Your… prodding… isn't helping that."

"Got it," Sam says. "I'm sorry."

"For the last time, it's okay, dude. Now, I'm gonna go sleep. How do leftover pancakes in the morning sound?"

"That sounds great! Good night, Dean."

"G'night, Sam."

Sam walks over to the couch, and Dean heads into his and Cas's room, quickly slipping into his pajamas. Cas is already asleep, still in his normal clothes. Silly angel must've forgotten where his pajamas are again.

Once he's ready, Dean slides in the bed next to Cas, who of course quickly attaches himself to Dean. It makes it harder to move, but honestly, Dean doesn't mind. He's got his brother in the next room and Cas plastered to his side. Like he said to Sam, life's hardly perfect, but for once, it's here, and it's happening, and it's Dean's.

They're getting by.


End file.
